


Range

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne vs the concept of motherhood, Bisexual Anne Shirley, F/M, Feminist Themes, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: Anne likes children well enough.On the other hand, looking after Bash and Mary's baby helps her realise that she doesn't really want any of her own.(It also happens to provide her with an opportunity to flirt).





	Range

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy, and thank you in advance for reading! Please read my rambling explanatory footnotes, below, if you want because they express what I'm trying to get at in the fic better than the fic itself (but are probably less entertaining).

Winter had well and truly settled in Avonlea, an insidious chill creeping through the timbers of the Blythe-Lacroix homestead and into Anne’s feet. She stomped loudly over to the stove, trying to beat some blood back into the appendages. It worked. More or less.    
  


“Baaaaah!” Mary and Bash’s as of yet unnamed baby squealed.    
  


Anne spun around, crossing quickly to the bassinet. Gently, she hauled the little girl up and onto her hip. Chubby fingers grabbed at the strands of hair that had fallen out of Anne’s plait, spilling down the front of her dress.    
  


“Well, at least you’re easily pleased.” Anne observed.

“Ba ba!” baby Lacroix agreed, pristine white teeth flashing in a beautiful smile. 

“Do you want to stay with me? Yeah?” Anne asked. 

The baby didn’t reply, except to tug on Anne’s hair a little too hard.    
  


“Hey!” Anne scolded, jostling the baby just enough to get her point across. 

“Meeeh!”    
  


“Well, don’t pull my hair then!” 

Big brown eyes looked back at Anne, affronted. She sighed, adjusting her hold on the baby. At least nowadays, at seventeen, she actually had enough hip to take some strain off her arm. 

“Come on,” she chirped, moving across to the range “Let’s see how dinner’s - Oh.” 

The minute they got within a foot of the range, baby Lacroix had started sniffling. 

“What’s the matter, huh?” Anne asked, leaning over to stir the stew.    
  


Suddenly, the baby started wriggling madly- Anne dropped the spoon, grabbing at the baby with both arms. She started screaming, beating at Anne’s arms ineffectually with her tiny hands.    
  


“Oh dear.” Anne muttered to herself. Heart beating wildly, she transferred the wriggling infant to her chest. 

_ Breathe,  _ she reminded herself,  _ Mary isn’t back yet.  _

_ And _ , she added belatedly as her momentary panic began to ebb,  _ she would never beat you for making her baby cry. _

Calmer, Anne backed away from the stove. Miraculously, baby Lacroix began to still. But she was still causing a racket, tiny lungs doing their job and more. 

“You don’t like the stove, huh.” Anne surmised, stroking the baby’s bald head “Did Gilbert drop you in a pot or something?” 

Baby Lacroix paused in her squealing to sniff delicately.    
  


“I’ll get you your revenge.” Anne vowed. 

She glanced at the range; the dinner would keep. 

“Come on,” she said softly, treading out of the kitchen and further into the house “Let’s go on an adventure.” 

The baby dug her head deeper into Anne’s collar bone, which Anne took as consent to go on a grand tour of every room in the house- some of which Anne hadn’t been in before. She doubted any of the adult residents would mind, though; Gilbert and the Lacroixs had all made it very clear that Anne should treat the house as her own while they were away. 

Currently she was treating it as a massive literacy lesson, sounding out all of the simpler things she came across. Unfortunately, the baby didn’t seem to be listening. Halfway through M-A-N-G-L-E, Anne realised that her charge was drowsing, half asleep. That suited her. 

As she re-entered the kitchen, Anne switched to singing, swaying gently from side to side, bobbing up and down with the pitch:  _ speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing… _

Gradually, baby Lacroix slipped into a deeper sleep. In time to the second  _ carry the lamb,  _ Anne set her gently back into the bassinet. As the baby wiggled almost elegantly, Anne hovered over her. 

“You are a very lovely baby,” she told her solemnly “But I think you’ve made me realise I don’t want one of my own at all.” 

Anne frowned “I shall have to try all the harder not to fall in love. Not with a boy, at least.”    
  


She drew back, subconsciously straightening her apron “Though I fear it may be too late for that.” 

Speak of the Devil- 

The door cracked open. 

“Hello.” Gilbert greeted her, smile turning distinctly smug as she flushed bright red. 

“Hello.” Anne replied, relieved when Bash and Mary followed in and all three of them began removing their winter layers, letting Anne dart away to the range. 

Keeping her back turned, Anne addressed the room at large in a low voice, “She’s just gone off to sleep.” 

“You’re an angel.” Mary sighed. Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw her scoop up her child, grab Bash by the arm, and bustle out with a brief explanation about making sure Bash properly put the baby to bed. 

Anne didn’t think Bash needed any instruction, but it was rather romantic that Mary wanted the two of them to do it together. 

Which reminded her- 

“Did you hear what I said just before you came in?” Anne asked the range. 

“Yes. Sorry.” Gilbert replied. Anne sensed him come up behind her “We heard you singing and figured you were trying to put her to sleep. We didn’t want to disturb.” 

“That’s quite understandable.” Anne responded, before wincing. She sounded just like Marilla. 

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who thought so. 

Gilbert shrank back with an awkward “Uh, alright.” 

Anne set the spoon down, and crossed her arms “Please don’t mention what I said about not wanting babies to anyone. I know it’s strange and-” 

“I don’t know that you’re the first woman to ever think it.” Gilbert cut her off mildly “But I won’t say a word, I promise. Just, would you-” 

Gilbert trailed off. The urge to see his expression gripped Anne so powerfully that she nearly spun around without a second thought. Only the knowledge that she would never get through this conversation face-to-face kept her rooted to the spot, skin growing hot from the range. She startled when a cool hand landed on her shoulder. Gilbert evidently hadn’t entirely warmed up from being outside. 

“Anne, just because you don’t want babies doesn’t mean you’ll never find a man or, uh,-” Anne’s blood froze, then resumed in a rush as Gilbert carried on with only a minor pause “woman who loves you and wants to marry you. I know plenty of boys who could take or leave children. I swear, the right man won’t care.” 

Tears pricked at Anne’s eyes. She pushed them down fiercely- no use weeping just because her crush  _ hadn’t  _ called her a dirty sinner and a whore. 

Still, Anne felt irrationally that he was owed some kind of explanation.

“I’m just tired of it. I’m not-” she added in a hurry as the hand still resting on her shoulder tightened “Opposed to lending a hand here and there, like today. It was rather fun, actually. Babies have an...an enigmatic openness to them, don’t you think? But they can be so tiring, and even when they grow to be children they take up so much of your time and energy. Which is alright!” Anne hastened to add “Because they need it. But most women, when they come to be married, haven’t done that before. They still have it in them. But even before I left the orphanage, I was constantly taking care of younger children and, well. I just feel that I’ve  _ done  _ it. Is that…” Anne hesitated, then turned to face Gilbert fully. His hand fell from her shoulder and hung slack by his side. 

“...Is that selfish?” 

Rarely did Anne notice the slight difference in their ages. Usually when she did, it was because Gilbert had done something strikingly mature. Now, though, despite the year he had on her he looked the image of a little lost boy. 

He stumbled through a half-answer, out of his depth “You’re not a selfish person, Anne.” 

“I can be,” she countered, mindful of the ghost of past jealousies “Very much so.” 

“But not in this.” 

Anne and Gilbert both turned to Mary, who had positioned herself in the doorway, arms crossed. 

Mary smiled ruefully “Sorry to interrupt, but I figured you’d need it. Motherhood ain’t something this boy’s thought on much, I’d wager.” 

“I delivered a baby.” Gilbert protested. 

“But did ya raise it?” Mary focussed back on Anne “I done it once before. I know what you mean- working women’ve had to spend themselves raising other people’s children since the world began, and no reward but the doing even if the child don’t die. It’s a mighty fine way to lose your life while living. You’ve got a lot of life in you, lotta plans in that head, lotta opportunities I’d never get with my skin. It’s not selfish to pursue ‘em. It’s using what God gave you.” 

“Using what God gave me.” Anne repeated. A smile stole across her face. Her cheeks began to hurt with the strength of it. 

Anne met Gilbert’s eyes, surprised to find him already looking at her. It seemed that kind of thing had been happening a lot recently. 

She smiled “Maybe my future romances won’t be quite so tragical.” 

“Romanc _ es  _ now, is it?” Gilbert teased, tilting his head back “Some poor fellow is going to have a lot of competition.” 

“Maybe.” Anne smirked, the curl of her lips growing satisfied as she realised Gilbert hadn’t dropped her gaze “Maybe.” 

“And maybe you’ll tell me what you cooked, eh?” Mary cut in. 

Anne stepped back, eyes sparkling as she stored away the subtle look that passed between she and Gilbert. 

It had definitely, she mused, been a very informative day. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking advantage of the fact uni hasn't started up yet to low-key dedicate my life to this TV show for a while.  
Some notes:  
\- I believe that in many places in the 19th century it was common practice for poorer families not to name children until they were around 1, but idk if it was actually ALL that widespread or if it persisted to the turn of the century, or if it happened in Canada. It was a good excuse not to have to think of a name for the child tho.  
\- the song Anne sings is the variously named Skye Boat Song  
\- I wrote this fic bc I decided a few years ago that as much as I don't hate kids, I don't like them nearly enough to bother having my own- I'll be a cool aunt if and when my brother and friends have kids though! According to my mum Anne does get pregnant in the books (and miscarry, RIP), but I thought with all the show's themes about living for yourself instead of to fulfil the role you're told to, plus the inevitable negative effects of having to mother children while still a child, it would be interesting to write a fic where Anne actively chooses not to have children- not because she hates children in the way childless women are often depicted in media, but because she's just not looking for that. In particular I think that would be a significant thing for Anne to decide, because it rejects the idea that just because a woman is capable of feeling motherly and nurturing, she is obligated to do so; particularly as a lower class woman who wouldn't be able to get a servant to manage the nitty gritty of child wrangling for her (in which way Anne's position in the Hammond house echoes Bash's mother's on the plantation, though obvs Bash's mother's is much more severe given the racial prejudice involved). I also thought it would be interesting to touch on the theme from a male PoV, because I think the show does a good thing in showing Bash actively pining after fatherhood from a nurturing perspective, considering active male involvement in child rearing was not disapproved of but not exactly championed at the time and also because the show would have had the perfect opportunity to use the tired trope of Bash's inhibited connection to his mother inhibiting his connection to future children. ((Also, and as a white person I'm hope I'm not overstepping the mark here, all of that is particularly relevant considering Bash is a black man and in Western white-dominated media they rarely get to be soft and loving))  
\- can you tell I'm doing an English and History degree


End file.
